Chapter 5 #2
I stroked myself slowly, spreading the precum from my tip down the shaft. The washer rattled against the floor, covering the wet sound of my hand.
In the fantasy, I pressed my face between Evan’s cheeks. They were thick and firm, warm to the touch and swallowed my face whole. I dragged my tongue flat across his hole and felt his entire body jerk forward.
“Fuck,” fantasy-Evan breathed, his voice cracking on the single syllable.
I tightened my grip and sped up. My free hand braced against the washing machine, the vibration traveling up my arm and into my chest.
I ate him out like I was starving. Long, slow licks that made his thighs shake, then pointed my tongue and pushed inside, working him open while he made sounds that didn’t belong to the cocky, untouchable Evan Brock the world knew.
I reached between his legs and found his balls through the jockstrap pouch. They filled my palm completely and then some. Tugging the elastic aside, I pulled them free—one at a time, watching them drop into the open air, hanging low and swollen.
My hips thrust forward into my fist. I was leaking steadily now, my cock slick from root to tip.
I took his left ball into my mouth and sucked gently, running my tongue across the soft, wrinkled skin while my thumb circled his hole. Evan’s knees buckled. His forehead dropped to the dirt of the mound.
“Tommy—” His voice was wrecked. Shattered. “You’re…incredible.”
I sucked harder, then switched to the right one while I pressed the pad of my thumb against his spit-slick hole.
Evan whimpered and pushed his hips back against my face, chasing my tongue, chasing my thumb. His whole body trembled as I took him apart piece by piece.
I was close. My balls were tight against my body, my thighs shaking, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. I fucked my fist faster, twisting at the head, my thumb dragging over the slit on every upstroke.
In the fantasy, I buried my tongue back inside him while I tugged gently on both balls, stretching them down. Evan sobbed my name, his cock untouched and dripping onto the clay—
The door clicked shut behind me.
Every nerve in my body fired at once. I spun around, my hand still wrapped around my cock—flushed, wet, fully erect and pointed directly at the ceiling.
Huh. The room was empty, and the door was closed. But it had been open—I was sure of it—cracked an inch, maybe two, the way it always sat when the latch didn’t catch.
Now it was flush against the frame.
Someone had been standing there. Someone had seen me—pants around my thighs, cock in my hand—and had pulled the door shut as they left.
My stomach dropped through the concrete floor.
I yanked my pants up with shaking hands, my erection painful and insistent as I trapped it sideways against my hip. I didn’t bother with the button. I shuffled to the door on unsteady legs and opened it a crack, pressing my eye to the gap.
The hallway stretched in both directions—empty and silent. But at the far end, disappearing around the corner, was a foot.
A Nike sneaker. Size fourteen, at least.
My father’s shoe.
The foot vanished around the corner, and my entire life imploded in slow motion.
I closed the door. Pressed my back against it and slid down until my ass hit the cold concrete.
My hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t make them stop. I pressed them flat against the floor, feeling the vibration of the washer through the concrete, and stared at the ceiling while my heart tried to crack my ribs open from the inside.
He saw me. He saw—
How much? How long had he been standing there? Had he heard me? Had he seen my cock, hard and wet in my fist?
Had he seen my face and the way my mouth was open, shaping a name I’d never said aloud?
I stood up and walked over to the utility sink in the corner. I washed my hands three times, until the skin was red and raw. I splashed water on my face and gripped the edges of the sink.
My reflection in the pitted metal faucet was warped and unrecognizable. Good. I didn’t want to see myself.
As the bus pulled out of the parking lot, my phone vibrated in my lap. Grabbing it, I read the text message that was sure to kill me.
Dad: Next time, use the bathroom like every other guy on this team.
I let my head drop back against the seat and made a sound that had no business coming from a human being.
The seat in front of me shifted, and Reed’s face appeared over the headrest, his dark eyebrows raised. “You good, man?”
“Fine.” I locked my phone and shoved it into my pocket. “Stomach thing.”
“Gas?”
“Yeah. Shouldn’t have done the tacos.”
Reed winced. “Those things are a gamble every time. You need a Tums? I think Williams has some.”
“I’m good. Thanks, though.”
He studied me for another second, his gaze flicking from my eyes to my jaw, then to the pocket where my phone was buried. I kept my face neutral, my breathing even.
“Alright.” Reed gave me a quick nod and disappeared back behind his seat. “Holler if you change your mind.”
The bus swayed gently, carrying us through the Florida night toward the hotel. Beside me, Evan shifted, his knee falling sideways until it pressed against mine.
I didn’t move away.
I was already in hell. Might as well enjoy the scenery.